#cake in cambridge

[nidhastreat]

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[a-study-in-dante]

May 17th, 2023 | Back to coffee and cake. And some side article-writing...

[indelen]

I'm fairly certain that Loki's story in the MCU is done in terms of character evolution, but I do think he was situated in a way that means he can pop up effectively anytime as a plot device whenever writers need one (and I'm fairly certain Tom will always be down for a cameo). Which is interesting with Young Avengers obviously being lined up.

Like imagine Loki being somehow instrumental to forming a second team of Avengers, but this time the intent and context is completely different. Not a villain to rally against, but a god guide though time and space? The irony of it, the circularity.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

•

•

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xxx

Happy 12th Wedding Anniversary to The Prince and Princess of Wales! 💙

To mark the occasion, why not try making one of their wedding cakes? This delicious chocolate biscuit cake is really easy and requires no baking.

It’s famous for being one of two royal wedding cakes made to celebrate the marriage of the then Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (now the Prince and Princess of Wales) in 2011.

[naylor]

just ordered some heart shaped cinnamon rolls for my birthday instead of a cake and i'm honestly so excited for them

[kinjal11]

Comfort food

[psink]

Saiki Kuusuke and Teruhashi Kokomi guidebook full pages translation:

(left side) Disaster element: Unsuccessful attempted triggering of the World War.

Kusuo's older brother and a genius inventor with an IQ of 218. The eldest son of the Saiki family, currently studying abroad at Cambridge University. A genius who spoke his first words at 1 month old, but due to an inferiority complex because of his psychic younger brother, he ran away to London. ↑He takes pride in his top-class academic abilities even within the prestigious Cambridge University. ? To avoid encountering･･････ Don't get caught on the surveillance cameras!! Kuusuke can hack into all of London's surveillance cameras in an instant. Isn't Japanese security a piece of cake in his hands? Let's find a place without cameras.

! If you happen to encounter･･････ The topic of his younger brother is not allowed!! Because of his "younger brother complex", talking about his younger brother is strictly forbidden. If you do, he'll psychologically corner you. (right side) Ecological information: 【Name】 Saiki Kuusuke 【Height】 179cm 【Weight】 64kg 【Birthday】 June 16th 【Blood type】 B

Disaster Status: Intelligence S, Physical Strength B, Obsession S Genius ◎ Cambridge University Kuu-kun Extreme masochist 0 wins 4254 loses Dr. KU-SUKE

Overall disaster difficulty: 80% (C) You're safe in Japan, but be careful when travelling to London!

[Kusuo:] It seems that is such thing as a younger brother who surpass his older brother.

Main appearance spots Having left Japan at the age of 14, his current base of operation is mainly London. Almost never returns home.

(top left) Relaxing tea time Elegantly enjoying tea time while looking at his personal computer in a luxurious hotel room. He has amassed a massive wealth thanks to his patents! (bottom left) This is the best place to concentrate He goes to the library at the same time every week to read. Everyone knows that reading in this place is part of his daily routine. (top right) There is no such thing as a younger brother who surpasses his older brother･･････ Due to studying abroad at Cambridge University, he is currently living alone away from his family. (bottom right) Reunion through the monitor You shouldn't feel safe just because he's not in Japan. Various machines can immediately turn into his cameras. There's no room for carelessness or weakness.......

Asou-sensei's idea memo: I indented from the beginning that Kusuo would have an older brother, and I also decided that he'd be a scientist who competes against Kusuo. However, it was difficult to find the right timing to introduce him. The only foreshadowing is on 2nd panel of page 12 of volume 2, where 3 fingers are held up.

(left side) Disaster element: The world revolves around Teruhashi-san.

The most beautiful girl in the world, loved by God. She is the idol of PK Academy and prides herself in such beauty that even God is captivated by her. Teruhashi-san is aware of this, which, frankly speaking, makes her invincible. →Even naturally formed clouds take shape of Teruhashi-san's wings.

? To avoid encountering･･････ Avoid the crowds!! A crowd of onlookers gather around Teruhashi-san. So if there's a crowd, it's a warning sign.

! If you happen to encounter･･････ Offu-ing! In case of encountering her, that'll bring you happiness, so there's no such thing as an avoidance technique. If you want to leave quickly, just say "offu".

(right side) Ecological information: 【Name】 Teruhashi Kokomi 【Height】 171cm 【Weight】 ?kg 【Birthday】 August 6th 【Blood type】 A

Disaster Status: Intelligence A, Physical Strength C, Appearance S 7 billion people's love A kind and perfect girl Children × Captive [of love] Offu Life on easy mode

Overall disaster difficulty: 75% (B) Since Teruhashi-san has an impressive number of followers, she is quite dangerous.

[Kusuo:] Even God obeys her.

Main appearance spots The reason Teruhashi-san goes out, is to show people her appearance!! Truly noble!! (top left) Bringing happiness to Hidariwakibara-chō by letting people see her On days off, even though she doesn't have much to buy, she strolls around the main street of Hidariwakibara-chō as an eye-candy for the purpose of enjoyment of people around her.

(bottom left) I only accompanied my brother Her brother is a super famous celebrity. They often go to the cinema together to watch the movies he's in.

(top right) If I wear it, it'll fly off the shelves, you know? Being a perfect beautiful girl, anything she wears will suit her. Therefore it's fine for her to shop in an ordinary clothing store in the town.

(bottom right) After-school girl talk. Lately, her way of enjoying herself has been talking about love with Yumehara and other classmates at cafes and dessert shops. Asou-sensei's idea memo: When you think about what person would be able to oppose Saiki, it has to be a "perfect beautiful girl", right? And if she's a perfect, beautiful girl, I think she'd definitely be aware of her charm, right? The reason she doesn't have any ribbons, a unique hairstyle or other prominent feature is because, being perfect, she doesn't need them.

[noel-fielding-web-page]

‘The fact that I’m still here is amazing’: Noel Fielding on Bake Off, booze and the Boosh

He has gone from cult niche to smash hit and he still can’t believe it. As Bake Off returns, the comic talks about his ‘feral’ upbringing, his party years – and the day Hammond fell out of a hammock

Noel Fielding’s highlight of the new series of The Great British Bake Off wasn’t a show-stopping cake. In fact, it wasn’t any type of baked goods. It wasn’t even a shot of a squirrel with outsized testicles. It was his co-host Alison Hammond falling out of a hammock.

“I’ll never be able to unsee it,” he says. “What I love about Alison – and I mean this with the greatest of respect – is that she’s an absolute klutz. If anyone’s going to fall out of a hammock, it’ll be her. She also fell backwards off one of the workbenches while showing off. Don’t worry, she was OK. No Hammonds were harmed in the making of this series.”

As the autumnal fixture returns to our screens, Fielding promises a 15th series on peak form. “It’s a belter,” he says. “There are some very special bakers in the tent this year. Somehow the standard keeps getting higher. These unbelievable young bakers are way better than they should be for their age. It’s a vintage year. One of the best yet.”

By stealth, the surrealist goth has become a Bake Off veteran. This is Fielding’s eighth series at the helm, meaning he’s now served a longer stint than original hosts Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins. “Who knew that was going to happen?” he marvels. “Maybe Paul Hollywood’s hypnotised me. I can’t escape the tractor beam of those blue eyes. I loved that original lineup, with Mary [Berry], Mel and Sue, as much as anyone. When me and Sandi [Toksvig] took over, we were terrified. We knew it was a massive risk. We said: ‘Let’s see if we can last one series.’ The fact that I’m still here is amazing.”

A family affair? … (from left) Fielding, Alison Hammond, Paul Hollywood and Prue Leith. Photograph: Mark Bourdillon/Channel 4

Toksvig later admitted “I felt my brain atrophying” after three series of glazes and ganaches. How does Fielding keep it fresh? “Sandi, as we know, is a massive brain. She went to Cambridge, she’s super-smart, she writes, she does politics, she needs to be stimulated. She never stays anywhere too long, except QI which is the perfect show for her. The difference between us is that I’ve always really enjoyed hanging out with the bakers. I befriend them and get them to open up. Nobody expected that to be my strength. I assumed it’d be the sketches and banter. In fact, I’m fascinated by the people. I feel protective of them. If Paul and Prue [Leith] are hard on them, I’m absolutely livid. It’s devastating when they leave. This year I was particularly fond of one baker. When I had to send them home, I cried.”

Hammond is his third co-host. “It feels like I’ve done three different shows,” he says. “First with Sandi, under enormous pressure but we pulled it off. Then with Matt [Lucas], which was a privilege because he’s a comedy genius. Now I’m enjoying it more than ever. Alison’s not a comedian, so she’s not as neurotic about jokes as I am, but she’s a brilliant improviser and instinctively funny. She slotted right in. Paul and Prue are very fond of her. Even my kids adore her. We’re having a blast.”

Judges and presenters refer to “the Bake Off stone” – a tendency to gain weight during each 10-week run. In her sophomore series, Hammond valiantly attempted to resist. “She tried to eat less this year but Alison’s quite childlike. She said: ‘Noel, stop me eating cake, I want to be good.’ The next time I saw her, she was literally like [he mimes shovelling in cake]. Alison has a good time all the time. You don’t want her to not be eating the cakes.”

Fielding, now 51, had a “feral” upbringing in Croydon. Hammond was raised in a Birmingham council house. He relishes these “two working-class kids galloping around Welford Park”, the Grade I-listed Berkshire estate where the marquee is pitched each summer. “If you’ve grown up in a working-class environment and go to a stately home, you’re like: ‘Woah! This is like Willy Wonka’s factory.’ We’re like urchins in front of Dame Prue. I permanently feel like I’ve come to sweep Prue’s chimney.” He describes Bake Off’s star quartet as “a funny old family”. Who’s who? “Prue and Paul are Mum and Dad, obviously. Alison’s the wild daughter. I reckon I’m the cat. Or am I the dog? Paul would say I’m the teenage son who’s secretly a vampire.”

‘We knew it was a massive risk’ … Fielding with Sandi Toksvig on the 12th series of The Great British Bake Off. Photograph: Channel 4/Love Productions/Mark Bourdillon/PA

The last time we spoke, Fielding reflected on his 00s era as a hedonistic scenester. “I took partying to its logical conclusion,” he said. “When you’ve been partying with Kate Moss and Courtney Love, you’ve gone as far as you can go. A few friends ended up in rehab. I was sick of partying anyway and lucky enough to have my family at the right time [he has two daughters with wife Lliana Bird]. It was like: ‘This is what I was looking for!’”

He returns to the theme today, pondering how Bake Off arrived at the right time. “When I got this job, I’d just had my first child, I was painting a lot and had a different lifestyle. This show fitted that phase. You want to match your career to where you are in life. It’s mainstream, family-friendly and my kids love it, so it suits me. I love not partying – and I never thought I’d say that.”

A fellow comic turned artist provides career inspiration. “I’d love to concentrate on art more as I get older. I love what Vic Reeves [Jim Moir] is doing, making art documentaries and his Painting Birds series. Vic and Bob [Mortimer] were a big influence on me. Now he looks genuinely happy. I’d love to do something similar.”

Claudia Winkleman jokes that she gets mistaken for Fielding. Does it happen the other way round? “I did see a trailer for The Traitors out of the corner of my eye and go: ‘I swear I didn’t film that.’ But no, Claudia looks like a beautiful 60s model. I look like a melted candle. A wax model of Roy Orbison that’s been left too near the radiator. It’s flattering for me but harsh on her.”

Earlier this year, Fielding scored a streaming hit with The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin. After wrapping filming on Bake Off, he’s off to shoot the highwayman sitcom’s second series. Has he learned to ride a horse? “I can get on and off, that’s all I need. Luckily it’s a comedy, so I don’t need to look impressive. One thing I enjoyed was that it’s made by Apple, so there’s a bit of a budget. With The [Mighty] Boosh, it was always a financial struggle to bring your vision to life. If you do fantastical stuff, you’re forever going: ‘We want an underwater race with people riding porpoises but that’d be all the budget gone.’ We’d end up using bits of animation to work around it. With Apple, they go: ‘Yeah, we can do that. Fine, let’s blow up a carriage.’ I’m like: ‘What, really? It won’t be a model?’”

He has formed an unlikely double act with Hugh Bonneville, who plays Dick’s thief-catching nemesis. “You can never predict who you’ll have chemistry with. I’ve learned a lot from Hugh. He’s a really skilful comic actor. And Mark Heap, who plays my dad, has the best timing of anyone ever.” As well as starring, Fielding has a writing credit. In the pilot episode, Heap tells him: “You always were a bit weird. Drawing, coming up with funny ideas, wearing strange outfits.” Was that line autobiographical? “I did write that scene, yeah,” admits Fielding.

Slice of history … Fielding (left) with his Mighty Boosh co-star Julian Barratt Photograph: Martin Argles/The Guardian

He also drew the amusingly rubbish “Wanted” posters that appear in the show. “I’d send them to the director and he’d go: ‘No, not bad enough, do another, make it more ridiculous!’ I’d end up doing them left-handed in about 10 seconds.” There’s even a role for his brother Michael, who played Naboo in The Mighty Boosh: “I put my brother in everything I can. He’s not only very funny but it means I get to hang out with him all day.”

While we’re on the Boosh, was he aware that this year marks the 20th anniversary of the comedy troupe’s TV incarnation? “Does it? Oh wow. Me and Julian [Barratt, his comedy partner] were proud of everything the Boosh did – the live shows, radio series, TV show. We probably should have made a film. People wanted more and that would’ve been a nice way to finish. Julian’s the funniest person I’ve ever worked with, hands down.” Of today’s comedy crop, he rates James Acaster highly.

Would the duo ever reform? “What we had together was so special. Comedy double acts are such rare beasts, like unicorns. I’ll probably never meet anyone like that again but I loved it while it lasted. We stopped at the right time, before the quality dipped. The Boosh was all-consuming, like being in a band. It’s difficult to recreate that when you’re older. You don’t have the same drive and energy. As much as I’d love to get back together, I wouldn’t want to do something that wasn’t as good.”

Going from Boosh to Bake Off has been an unexpected journey. “When the Boosh ended, because it had been a cult hit, I wanted to make something more avant garde and experimental to satisfy my art school side. So I did [Channel 4 sketch series] Luxury Comedy. After that, I didn’t know what to do with myself, then Bake Off came along. It was a huge curveball for me. I love that it’s old-fashioned TV. Millions watch it weekly. People come up and talk to me about the latest episode. It feels like being part of British culture. There’s so much choice now, thousands of shows on streaming, but shows like Strictly, Gogglebox and Bake Off somehow still cut through.”

After dismal weather all series, the sun even came out for this year’s final. “It had been raining and storming but as soon as we went to announce the winner, sunshine started beaming down.” Fielding grins. “Bake Off’s like that. There’s something magical about it.”

Guardian, 14.09.2024

[blackmoonowl]

Fuck it. Danse fanfic with the reader trying to help him get over his suicidal tendecies

The aftermath.

Paladin Danse x reader

Warnings: suicidal ideations, Danse coming to terms with being a synth. After blind betrayal

Danse lived for the brotherhood, and now it felt like he had nothing.

The bunker he now called home felt empty, and he looked at the ceiling. You had spared him, and he was forever grateful for it. But he never felt so alone and lost. Part of him wondered if being spared was truly the best for him. His sulking was interrupted by the sound of someone opening the bunker door. Now on full alert, the ex-paladin jumped up from the mattress, reaching for his weapon.

"Danse?" A voice called out through the bunker, your voice. His body relaxed visibly as he let out a deep breath. The former Brotherhood paladin pulled himself off of the old mattress on the floor, getting to his feet.

"I'm here," he responded, hearing the footsteps immediately approach him. It didn't take long for you to appear from behind the crumbled wall. He looked pathetic no doubt, and he felt a deep-seated sense of shame. You smiled at him, setting down your bag.

"Scribe Haylen told me she got your message, told me to send you her regards. Anyhow, how are you feeling?" You carefully asked, your eyes raking over his slightly disheveled form.

"Doing as well as can be expected, given everything that has happened," Danse replied as he sat down on an old office chair that surprisingly didn't give in despite its age. "But I'm doing better now that you're here."

He didn't miss the way your smile briefly widened at that, a sight that made his weary heart feel a little more at ease. You quickly interrupted the moment of silence, clearing your throat as you gestured to the bag.

"I got you some supplies, should keep you going for a while," you smiled at the synth sat in front of you. It was a far cry from the honorable Paladin you had encountered back at Cambridge. The sight made your heart clench, but you knew better than to bring it up right now. "Figured you could use it, since you know... it's best for you to lay low right now."

Danse's eyes lit up slightly as he reached out to grab the old, worn out pre war shopping bag. "You didn't have to do that for me," he softly muttered, that look of embarrassment never really leaving his face. He had fallen so low he had to accept handouts from the knight he once sponsored, and it felt bad, even if he appreciated your thoughtfulness.

"You're right, I didn't. Danse looked back up at you as you replied. "But I wanted to, you deserve it... after everything."

His lips quirked slightly as he pulled a pack of Fancy lad snack cakes out of the bag. The treat loved by all synths, it felt like some sort of sick joke.

"Thank you," he relented, having to keep himself together so he wouldn't show you just how broken down he really was. "Glad to know I can still rely on you, despite everything." That last part was almost mumbled as he put the item aside again.

"Hey, listen," you began, struggling to find the words. "I.. I know this isn't easy for you. But I'm not going anywhere, okay? I don't see you as any less than I-"

"You should," he cut you off. The synth furrowed his brows, his fingers curled into his fist. "I know you told me than I'm still myself, and I thank you for it. But that doesn't make this easier. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve to live, if I... if I.." he fought back tears as he trailed off, refusing to meet your gaze as his head hung before he spoke again. "That I should be destroyed, for the sake of others, for the sake of the Brotherhood and all they stand for."

"No you shouldn't," you firmly protested, your own heart sinking. "We went over this, you deserve to live just like anyone else. The fact you were created in a lab doesn't make you any less human to me."

"I wish I could believe that without question." Danse tried to keep his voice steady. "But I'm starting to doubt that. The time I've spent here.. I've never felt this low. The Brotherhood declared me dead for a reason."

"Danse," you tried again. "I don't care about that, you're still the same man who took me under his wing when I first joined up. Nothing is going to change that. Not for me, and not for Scribe Haylen." Reaching out, you put your hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Danse swallowed thickly as he finally raised his head to meet your gaze. You silently put your other hand on the side of his face, caressing his cheek.

"I don't deserve this," he breathed with a slightly shaky tone. It was a strong contrast to his usual stoic and determined resolve. "But I can't bear the thought of you leaving me as well." His hand came up to rest against the one you were using to cradle his cheek.

"You do deserve it," you firmly responded. "You deserve everything... you are everything." Those words seemed to break the damn as his eyes became glossy, firmly blinking to shoo away the tears. You pulled him closer, your arms circling around his shoulders as his face buried against your stomach. It seemed to catch him off guard, but slowly he raised his hands to grip your waist, a few tears escaping his eyes.

"Thank you.." he managed choke out. The first tears that he shed in what he presumed to be his entire life. "For everything, I wish I could repay you."

"How about accepting that you deserve to be cared for?" You attempted a light joke to cheer the synthetic man up slightly. With a deep sigh, he nodded.

"I'll try, promised." He finally pulled away, flustered and relieved mix of an expression on his face. "Would you mind.. staying a while?" he finally questioned. You smiled at that.

"Of course."

[lauranalanthalasa]

You're a dark horse, Mr. Fell!

I'm no native speaker and although I am under the impression that my knowledge of the English language isn't that bad, I hadn't heard the expression of "being a dark horse" before. From the context in which it was said by Nina I could deduce it's meaning and at first I didn't really think it was relevant in any way. Just an expression I hadn't heard before, totally fitting from Nina's point of view.

But then Crowley used the same phrase to describe the multi-talented Jane Austen in the pub scene and I was surprised that two different characters used these exact same words to describe two different people. I started wondering if there could be more to it. And knowing Neil Gaiman, there probably is. (I'm just not smart enough to figure it out)

The next thing I realise is, that there's an actual dark horse in Aziraphale's book shop! It's a figurine of one of the two Marley Horses by the French sculptor Guillaume Coustou. Crowley noticeably uses it to store his glasses - we see him put them there and grab them back multiple times throughout the season - and in episode one the later vanished plate of Eccles cakes is placed right next to it.

So all of this really REEKS as if there's more to it! But what exactly?

Because, as I mentioned, I'm not a native speaker, I looked up the meaning of "being a dark horse" online in the Cambridge Dictionary. This is what I found:

a person who keeps their interests and ideas secret, especially someone who has a surprising ability or skill (that was the meaning I deduced after hearing Nina calling Aziraphale a dark horse because of the whole naked man business)

a horse or a politician who wins a race or competition although no one expected them to (Aziraphale being - seemingly - promoted to Supreme Archangel of all Heaven by the end of season 2 wasn't exactly on my bingo card)

a person who is not expected to succeed in or unexpectedly wins an election, race of other competition (could this be a hint that the Metatron underestimates Aziraphale? I mean, he used to guard the gate to Eden with a flaming sword and apparently he's fought in a war and blew up demons with his halo, so...)

So what to make of all of this? I don't know. As I said, I'm not clever enough for this. But I would be surprised if this dark horse was just a red herring.

Please feel free to hit me up with your ideas.

[noneorother]

Crowley is a dark, romantic horse.

So this is sort of meta, sort of art direction thoughts, but it's a fun one I haven't seen anywhere else yet. The line "Bit of a dark horse" are used twice in S2 (natch). Once to refer to Aziraphale when housing a naked man in S2E1, and once to refer to Jane Austen right here in S2E2:

Both times in the dialogue of the show, it refers to someone on the one hand who is romantic, and on the other hand is shady and pretty badass.

So should we go look at what the definition of a Dark Horse is? Seems important.

Plot twist, there are TWO definitions. Dark Horse (Cambridge dictionary)

a person who keeps their interests and ideas secret, especially someone who has a surprising ability or skill:

a person who is not expected to succeed in or unexpectedly wins an election, race, or other competitions

But do you want to know who the actual dark horse of this season is? Check out where Crowley always places his glasses in the bookshop.

On an ACTUAL F*&?ING DARK HORSE. Right next to a white plate of Eccles cakes, framed in the same way we always see Aziraphale and Crowley positioned; center facing, Angel on the left, Demon on the right, close but never tripping the center line. Can you guess who put the Eccles cakes right next to the horse in the first place? ❤️

------------- So, what's Crowley's surprising ability or skill? And how is he going to unexpectedly win a competition? I have some meta posts to check out, and Crowley is next on the Chopping block!

[nidhastreat]

Celebrate your loved one's birthday by sending fresh birthday cakes in Cambridge. Book your loved one custom-made birthday cakes with us. Call us at +16475488428 or visit our website to book an order.

[a-study-in-dante]

March 2nd, 2023 | Went to a cute little café this morning and I actually was productive! Loads of work to do for the following weeks, but it's nice to make it cosy 🌻

[heycarrots]

Should I?

I shouldn’t.

But I shall anyway. 😈

Thanks to @tiofrean for sending this to me again.

You’re welcome.

Drama is happening, very important drama, but I must confess I was sincerely distracted by someone's unexpected bubble butt. (James Flint, cake haver).

[magicbystarlight]

Venomous - Part Eleven

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+, a bit of an angsty one, arranged marriage, age gap relationship, ptsd, war. Minors DNI.

A/N: Our poor reader can't catch a break.

The last days at the Manor passed mechanically. Wedding appointments set for Easter Break—dress, cake, invitations, dinner. A book left unread despite the pages turned. Smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. Laughs that were hollow. Unanswered letters. No word from your brother. Nothing in the papers about the Muggle war.

Abraxas was at your side, arm slung too casually around your shoulder as you walked through Platform 9 ¾. Your trunk somewhere behind being dragged along by the Malfoys’ oldest house-elf Honey. Or was it Bunny? An unsubtle reminder to the growing crowd that you were a Malfoy, even if not in name yet.

At least your mother hadn’t come.

His goodbye was drawn out. You smiled and dutifully let him kiss you again and again until he couldn't keep you any longer. You hoped your own face didn't betray your joy as you stepped onto the train. The compartments were full as you dragged your trunk. It took longer to find Larissa and Abigail than usual thanks to the added weight.

Their concern felt wasted on you when you stepped into the compartment. Too much of your friendship had been spent on your petty problems when their families lived in constant danger that you knew nothing about.

You insisted you were fine, that it had only been a bit of stress, and everything was okay now. You brushed off concerns about Abraxas’ behavior, rewriting his jealousy as protection. You were fine, everything was fine.

The conversation veered to them and you listened intently. A funny story about Larissa’s mother getting on the wrong train in the underground. Talk of Abigail’s father’s wonderful cooking. Love letters they found under her little sister’s pillow. It made your heart ache.

“We should set up a dinner or something for the Easter holiday,” you said as the laughter was starting to subside. “So I can meet your families.”

Your friends shared a look that didn’t look pleased with the idea. “Won’t you be too busy? With all the planning? We don’t want to add to your stress.”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

“It’s just,” Larissa said slowly, trying to find the words to say, “well, we know how your family feels about half-bloods. You might not mind, but they’re not gonna be happy with it.”

“They know we’re friends, it’s not that big of a deal anymore. Maybe they’ll be upset if they find out one of Abby’s parents is Muggle, but we can go somewhere Muggle and they’ll never even know. Make a day of it, a real day, show me more of the Muggle world. I’ve never even seen London past the windows in the Leaky Cauldron.”

Larissa went to say something else, another argument against it from the frown in her face, but Abigail cut her off, face lacking its normal color. “We’ll see. I’ll need to owl my parents and ask if they can make the time for it. Easter’s pretty busy for them.”

Your face fell before you could catch it and school it into something false.

“We can do Cambridge instead!” Larissa offered quickly, too eager compared to her hesitation a moment before. “I’m sure Mum would love to have you both over. And it gets so pretty in the spring there—” 

She continued, naming reason after reason Cambridge was the place to be for Easter. You worked your smile back, though it was as hollow as it’d had been at the Manor. A tentative date set for the Tuesday after the holiday—you had no appointments set and Abigail would be too busy helping out around home before then. Color still hadn’t returned to her face.

When enough time had passed, you excused yourself to use the restroom. They didn’t offer to join you.

Scalding water splashed from the tap, causing your hands to retract with a hiss. You waited for the temperature to correct itself and tried not to scratch at the pain.

Abigail didn’t want you meeting her family. Larissa could spend a week with them and you couldn’t even have dinner. You always knew they were a little closer. How could they not be when you barely put any effort into the friendship? They may have been your best friends, but today you realized you weren’t theirs.

That was okay, you told yourself. You would do better.

You looked up into the mirror as you scrubbed your hands. A crack cutting diagonally down it you hadn’t noticed before. How poorly were these restrooms maintained?

The door swung open.

“—almost punched Ralph McLaggen in the middle of Diagon Alley! Over her? Can you—“

The Slytherin girl from Potions cut off abruptly as her gaze met yours in the mirror. The one who loved to tell people about your torrid affair with Slughorn. You’d have to remember her name eventually. 

Her grin was sickly sweet. “You looked great at the Minister’s ball.”

“Thanks, but,” you said, matching the acidic tone. “I don’t remember seeing you there?” Then you laughed, shaking your hands dry and turning to see her now scowling face. “Oh right, you must have seen me in the paper! I’d almost forgotten.” 

You walked to the door, eyebrow raised expanctly at her friend who still stood in its way. She squeaked out an apology before moving aside. “Well lovely to see you, Judith. Hope your holiday went well.” Maybe you didn’t have to learn her name.

—

Dumbledore wasn’t at the welcoming feast. It wasn’t unusual. Since First Year he’d been in and out of class aiding in the fight against Grindelwald. But you felt the absence more now. You’d wanted to talk to him about Warrick. 

There were eyes on you. More than usual it seemed. You kept your back to the Slytherin’s table. 

Abigail had recovered, at least. 

Her smiles were warm again as conversation swirled at the table around the next Quidditch match. Ravenclaw had only had one match the previous semester and it left them at an advantage, same as Slytherin and it was expected the match would be tense. You listened attentively as some of the team’s players explained how many points they’d need to rack up to gain the lead. It surprised you how attentively they listened when Larissa started dissecting Slyhterin’s weaknesses and strengths. Her insight was, well, insightful. 

“We’ve got the pitch on Thursday, you’ll be there?” Erin Lockhart, this year’s captain, asked her as you all made your way back to the tower. 

Larissa’s face was bright. “Haven’t missed one yet, have I?”

It was past midnight when the three of you finally clambered up the stairs to your dormitory. Normal. A truly normal night. Not a mention of engagements or wars or stalkers. Filled instead with Quidditch and school worries and silly little jokes. So many new things noticed about people you’d known for years. Funny how that can happen when you’re not existing solely in your own head.

Larissa was giggling about how good Henry Higginbottom’s hair looked when she stopped abruptly after opening the door. You thought maybe the ladies at Twilfitt and Tattings had outdone themselves and delivered early, but a melodic chirping drowned it out.

On your bed, in a rather large and intricate gilded cage, was Ravenclaw’s emblem. A Golden Eagle.

Their eyes were such a familiar shade of brown. 

“When did you get an eagle?”

“I didn’t.” You felt cold. “I’ll take my chances with whatever gilded cage awaits me rather than whatever crate you’re offering.” Could Tom never stop with his fucking metaphors?

Abigail was the one to investigate. She plucked an envelope from the bed, turning it over. Your name was on the front in familiar handwriting and an even more familiar teal seal.

Of course Azar was still doing Tom’s bidding.

Anger seized as you took the letter she handed over. Blood splatters marred the parchment.  

Found her in Astrid’s owlery. 

A likely story.

Apparently she’d been there a while and now she seems a bit confused about what she is. Thought getting her out of there was for the best,

You scoffed. Of course he would decide what he thinks best.

but the dungeons aren’t a good place for her. She needs to spread her wings. 

One thing he wasn’t wrong about. 

I know Selene said no to getting you an owl, but she never said no to an eagle.

He remembered that? It’d been years since you’d asked. 

Dippet was happy enough to approve her as a pet for you. Unsurprisingly, you’re one of his favorites.

It was a surprise to you.

She prefers hunting for herself, so she won’t be a bother. She’ll even take the post for you. You’ll have to give her a name though. Our aunt only ever called her örnen.

That sounded like Aunt Astrid.

Sinc Love,

Uggy Az

P.S. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry.

P.P.S. She was perfectly tame until I put her in the cage. You’ll get along well, I think. 

The anger had dissipated by the end. Not gone entirely, but less. You still weren’t convinced it wasn’t some new trap laid, but for now you’d let it be what it seemed. A sincere apology. Those were so rare.

“Uggy Az?” Larissa questioned, reading the letter over your shoulder.

“It’s what I called Azar when I was really little. It was supposed to be Uncle Az.” You reached for the latch, pulling the door open. “Mum hated it cause it sounded like I was calling him an ugly ass.” Cautiously the bird stepped out, stretching her wings and legs. She was beautiful.

You knelt at the end of the bed and she met you there. This close you could see the gold speckled throughout her eyes. When you reached your hand forward, she bent her head and let out a chirp at the contact.

“What should we name her?” you asked, stroking her.

“Princess?” Larissa offered before her face immediately went sour and shook her head. “She needs something more classical. Aethon?” 

That made you shudder. Would that make you Prometheus? 

Abigail’s fingers joined yours to stroke the brown feathers. “How about Drein?”

The eagle let out another chirp.

“You like that?” you asked. “Drein?”

She chirped again and seemed to nuzzle against your hand. 

“Well,” Larissa laughed, joining you and Abigail in your affections to the bird, “Drein it is.”

—

Sweat covered you as you shot up from bed. A nightmare. You couldn’t remember much beyond explosions, screams, and a hand around your throat.

The hands of the clock pointed to a quarter past five. Too early to start the day and too late to try to sleep. Not that you’d be able to sleep anyways.

Drein stirred from her perch atop your wardrobe when you moved. It was odd how comforting it was when her eyes followed you to your desk. Being watched by a predator was normally so unsettling, but for once you didn’t feel like prey.

You took a piece of parchment and your quill and began to write. It wasn’t right. You scratched it out and started again. Still wrong. Dashed through the new sentences and tried again. No. 

Curiosity got the best of Drein, her wings fluttering softly as she landed on the edge of the desk. Her head cocked as you ripped off the bottom, bare part of the parchment.

Why? You wrote. Your quill hovered for a moment more. I miss you. A few tears landed on the parchment before you wiped away the rest. Drein crept forward, pushing her head against your hand.

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask her. She blinks. “Take this to my brother.”

—

Drein had returned by that night. There was no reply. A week passed. Days that weren’t quite bad, but exhausting. 

Transfiguration was the easiest. An essay to write from the substitute instead of hands-on practice. Astronomy. History of Magic. Ancient Ruins. Herbology. Arithmancy. Potions. Care of Magical Creatures. None of them required a wand often. 

But Charms and DADA?

Horrible.

Abigail thought you were sick. First you fainted and now you were struggling in class? You’d gone and gotten checked just to ease her concern. You weren’t sure how no one noticed the crack in your wand, but you powered through. It did seem to work a little better as the days passed. Less resistant. A few more days, maybe a week or two, and it would be fine. Like nothing happened.

Whispers followed as they always did. Some with pity, but more with glee. You’d walked into a room more than once to be greeted with hurriedly hushed voices. Thankfully your housemates were more akin to pity.

Saturday afternoon you sat alone in the common room, where you’d been since after breakfast. It was a dreary day outside, but you couldn’t pull your attention away from the window. There wasn’t anything else to do. Abigail had left for some Divination project she had to work on with a Gryffindor and Larissa was serving a detention she’d gotten the last day of last semester. Abraxas had planned to visit, but something had come up and he postponed for Sunday. Homework was done and you didn’t feel like tracking anyone down to occupy time. 

Why hadn’t Warrick written you back?

A very nasally, high pitched noise came from beside you, breaking your concentration. Myrtle Warren stood there, nose high in the air. She held out a folded piece of parchment. “Avery asked me to give this to you?”

Your eyebrow shot up. Myrtle was muggleborn. Azar didn’t like interacting with that sort, let alone entrusting them with anything.

She cleared her throat again impatiently and wriggled the note.

With a muttered thanks, you took it. She still stood there. It simply read: Library?

“He told me to wait for a yes or no. Wants me to walk with you there for some reason if you say yes. Very odd, I think, but he’s paid me ten galleons just to bring this, and it’ll be another twenty once I get back to him with an answer.”

Ten galleons just to get you a note. Thirty in all to get an answer. And an escort. 

“Was there anyone with him?”

She shook her head. “No, he was all alone. Just like you. And me.” She shrugged. “Probably why he asked me.”

Azar must be hoping to apologize in person. There hadn’t been any chance to catch you alone throughout the week. You’d ensured that. While Myrtle wasn’t your first option of a companion, she was better than nothing. And talking it out with Azar was better than staring out a window. You needed to thank him for Drein, too.

Myrtle was surprisingly patient. You’d had to put your things away up in your dorm and she waited without a single complaint. It was unlike her. She hadn’t gained the nickname Moaning Myrtle for nothing. 

It was probably the promise of galleons that kept her so quiet  as you walked down the staircases.

“Do you mind if we stop by the restroom?” she asked as you landed on the second floor.

Had she not been so patient before, you’d have said no. But she had been. So you relented, eyeing the staircase wistfully and hoping she’d be quick. You wanted to see Azar. Know if it had been real.

Her favors weren’t over. “Could you check if there’s anyone in here? I don’t like an audience.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and did as requested. It was empty, thankfully. “All clear,” you called from the end of the stalls. 

“Well that is very,” Myrtle’s voice changed, the nasally high whine turning deep, honeyed, and unmistakable, “convenient.” 

You twisted, wand in hand, to witness as Myrtle’s face bubbled. Her robes stretched to accommodate the added height and width, its blue yellowing to green, Ravenclaw’s emblem contorted into Slytherin’s. You’d meant to Stupify him, but nothing came. A red jet of light shot from his. With horror, your grasp on your wand loosened involuntarily and it shot from your hand. He caught it effortlessly.

“I’m not here to fight,” Tom said evenly. He eyed your wand, surveying the damage. “Not that it seems you’d be able to put up much of one.” 

“Fuck you,” you hissed, despite the pounding in your ears. 

He smiled. “I have missed your quick wit.” When you said nothing, he sighed. “I wanted to apologize.”

You repeated, “Fuck you.” 

“That’s fair.” Your wand clattered on the floor as he threw it back. “I deserve worse.”

You don’t move. You consider it for half a second, hand tensing to reach for your wand, but you don’t. It’s useless.

“I didn’t understand how horrific what I did was. But I do now. And I’m sorry.”

Lies. Lies lies lies lies lies.

“I don’t want your apologies. They don’t mean anything. You regret nothing. You understand nothing!” Your voice rose, angry panic outpacing your ability to quell it. 

“Forgiveness will take time, I know. I’ll be patient.”

Tears seared your cheeks. “Forgiveness?” you questioned. “Forgiveness for what, Tom? For—for trying to kill me? For stalking me? For ruining my life?” Yanking the Malfoy heirloom from your finger, you held it up. “I only have this,” you threw it, aiming for his frozen face that didn’t even flinch and missing by a yard, “because of you. If you’d have left me alone, none of it would have happened. You took everything. And for what? What has it gotten you in the end?” Your arms were shaking as you gestured to the lavatory he’d trapped you in. “Downing polyjuice to corner me here and listen to me tell you that I hate you.”

Quaking shoulders. Terrified and angry and devastated. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I don’t know.”

It came out so soft, yet the words thundered in your head. He’d been so confident months ago. Spewing nonsense about power and freedom and breaking traditions. Now he stood there and said he doesn’t know why he continues to torment you?

“You don’t know?”

Cracking sounds reverberated against the walls.

“You don’t fucking know?”

Glass shards fell to the floor as the mirrors over the sinks shattered. 

You crumbled.

Next Part

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[five-miles-over]

For All Time, It Was Always You

Chapter 3 - Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm

A/N: It's a series now! Thank you all for your positive comments, your likes, and reblogs. Click here for Chapter 2: Mrs. Laufeyson

(Pairing: Loki x Wife!Reader)

Summary: The best way to a man's - or a god's - heart is through his stomach.

Warnings: Fluff, silliness, an infomercial that's not meant to offend anyone.

You turned the knob of the television in the living room, letting a soap opera play in the background while you washed the dishes - including those from Loki's breakfast - and preheated the oven. Then, following the cookbook's instructions, you prepared the batter for an angel food cake, a dessert you were hoping to dress with whipped cream and strawberries for your - yes, you were really saying it - husband. If there were two jars of strawberry jam, maybe it meant that Loki really liked strawberries. Or there was some kind of two-for-one deal at the store. 

While the cake baked in the oven, you took a shower after tinkering with the hot and cold faucets. With a towel wrapped around yourself when you were done, you shuffled your feet into the master bedroom. You opened one of the large wardrobes opposite from the window, finding an entire rack of crisp white shirts and brown dress pants - probably Loki's uniform for work - along with tuxedos and pajamas. You didn't think about opening the drawers beneath the racks of clothing, assuming they would be filled with your husband's underwear and socks. 

Speaking of underwear…where was the laundry room? You made a mental note to find it at some point, so you could use the washing machine. Also, did Loki wear boxers or briefs? Biting your lip, you brought yourself to imagine which of the two it could be, thinking of the way you checked out his ass that morning while making breakfast. How nicely the fabric hugged the curve of his rear. It definitely had to be boxers, surely briefs would've left some kind of outline. Or…what if he wasn't wearing any underneath those pants? You bit the inside of your cheek and crossed your arms, still damp from your shower. 

The smell of vanilla wafting into the bedroom silently reminded you that the cake was done, like an invisible tap on the shoulder. You snapped out of your reverie, looked through the other wardrobe and found a flattering midi-dress to wear over a lacy bra and a girdle. Now dressed, you took the golden-brown, light to the touch, warm cake out of the oven and let it cool. Meanwhile, the soap opera on the living room television was now replaced by a vague infomercial for a fancy kitchen gadget made by Stark Industries. You didn't know what it really did, or how much it cost, but it was apparently 'life-changing', 'ground-breaking', and only made by Stark Industries. 

It didn't take long for you to find a few other gadgets laying around the house. Inside a closet within the hallway was a vacuum cleaner, which you used to clean the living room and the other carpets in the house. Not that there was anything much to clean, considering the house seemed spotless to begin with. While you moved the vacuum around the welcome mat, you looked over your shoulder at a new infomercial.

"Are you tired of playing the dating game over and over again? Exasperated by the lack of paramours unwilling to cuddle with you? Does the loneliness of the night bring you sadness? Tired of all the nights alone with you and your fingertips? Do you wish for an attractive sweetheart you can flaunt to your friends and family, and to all the nosy strangers who ask why you're still single? Introducing the newest product from Cambridge Technologies, TOM H."

The spokesperson gestured to a six-foot tall male with perfectly combed dark-blonde hair with a slight curl, wearing a navy blue blazer and a matching set of trousers with a light blue dress shirt underneath. "Look at him," the spokesperson beamed. "His cheekbones are so sharp, I could grate cheese on them!"

The male smirked. "I love cheese, 'specially when paired with wine. And the company of a lovely lady."

Wait…this man looked familiar. Where had you seen him before? Squinting, you turned off the vacuum and began to fluff the pillows on the couch, keeping your eyes on the screen.With a fake laugh, the spokesperson turned to face the camera.

"Short for Technologically-Optimized Male Humanoid, TOM H. is equipped with the ability to speak seven different languages, including French, Spanish, and even Latin. He can open doors for your, pull your chair out, hold an umbrella for you when it rains, and even apologize for calling you beautiful! That's right, ladies, he's got every single piece of etiquette mastered at the back of his hand. No more worrying about guys who laugh at misogynistic jokes, or guys who treat you like a piece of meat. Our new android will make sure you spend everyday feeling like a princess!"

You continued to reluctantly clean the living room while the spokesperson continued to brag about the abilities of this supposedly life-like android. How many other people were watching this advertisement right now? And were any of them actually considering buying this android? Moreover, how would one actually take care of an android? Did it require charging like any other electronic device? Did it pretend to sleep at night?

On-screen, the spokesperson showed the android relaxing in bed, wearing nothing but boxers, and droned on and on about the android's ability to give warm cuddles and recite poetry at the drop of a hat. Then the scene changed to the android standing in the kitchen, wearing a black apron over a three-piece suit and preparing some kind of pasta dish. The android gave a cheeky smile to the camera, as if it was perfectly aware that somewhere, some touch-starved single person would be watching and immediately reach for their checkbook. 

"Call the number on-screen," the spokesperson announced, "and for just four separate payments of $599.99, TOM H. can be all yours. And for a bonus payment of $49.99, we'll throw in a blue jumper!

Please note that all clothes are sold separately, including the boxers. Cambridge Technologies is not responsible for the android crying. The android may experience urges to play with puppies and babies, do kind deeds for strangers, or dance in public. For optimal performance, we ask that you refrain from raising your voice in the presence of the android, and to feed the android tea every six hours."

"Oh my god." You gulped, standing still for a moment. The commercial finally ended with an image of the android giving the spokesperson a shoulder massage, and smiling at the camera. You switched the channel, and put away the vacuum, shuddering at what you'd just seen.

The next thing to worry about was the spaghetti bolognese, another recipe from the cookbook you chose for tonight Luckily there was a pack of ground mince in the fridge, otherwise you would've had to either rush to the supermarket - wherever that was - or pick something else to make for Loki's dinner. With the cookbook propped open on the kitchen countertop, you flipped to the recipe and did your best to follow every instruction. Chop the carrots, the celery, the onion, and the bacon, it said…Then, heat the pot with a generous amount of butter, add bacon…Put the rest of the vegetables in the pan, along with the mince. While that cooked in the pan, you opened a can of tomatoes from the pantry, poured it into the pan, causing it to sizzle loud enough to overpower the television for a moment. The final ingredients to add were dried herbs, a splash of red wine, and for some reason…milk. 

After moving the cake to the center of the table, you stirred the pot with the Bolognese mixture until the alcohol from the wine boiled off. The final step, according to the cookbook, was to place the entire pot in the oven at one-hundred eighty degrees Celsius for…well, enough time to stew everything. 

You closed the oven door with a sigh, wiping a trace of sweat on your forehead before taking a box of spaghetti out of one of the cupboards. Yes it was true that you'd only known Loki for a few hours, not even a whole day. And yet, you found yourself wishing and hoping that he would be pleased when he walked into the door. That when he opened the door, the smell of dinner would entice him to the table, and the sight of you would entice him into your arms. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at you this morning, with affection in his eyes as if you were the most priceless thing in his life.

As the noodles cooked in a pot of boiling water, you dressed the cake with whipped cream and chopped-up strawberries, and then chopped cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, and red onions for a side dish.  Within about thirty minutes, you had a pot of cooked spaghetti dressed in bolognese  sauce, a lettuce-free salad dressed with olive oil and red wine vinegar, and an angel food cake reserved for dessert. And just as a finishing touch, you set the dining table for two and lit a few candles. 

"Darling, we're home! Something smells amazing." At the doorway with a large grin on his face was Loki, standing in his work clothes with his dark curls slightly messy, dirt caking his fingertips,…and a black kitten in his arms.  Tagging: @anukulee @smolvenger @pineappleandro @lotsoflokilove23 @talklokitome @rumin8ting @12-pm-510 @painedfever @iambetterthanbefore @princess-ofthe-pages @thenotoriouserg @lokischambermaid @lokiismineforever @lokidbadguy @lokisgoodgirl @lokisprettygirl22 @holdmytesseract @wheredafandomat @wolfsmom1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @evelyn-kingsley @muddyorbsblr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @icytrickster17 @thatdummy-girl @fantasyfan4life @huntress-artemiss @itsdoni @gruftiela @ellooo0ooo @ireallyneedtherapy @jennyggggrrr @turniptitaness